


A Halloween In The Life Of Sherlock And John

by GeekishChic



Series: Personal Fanfic Friday Challenge [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kidlock, Personal Fanfic Friday Challenge, what even is this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekishChic/pseuds/GeekishChic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, Halloween!<br/>That special time of year when you punch your best friend in the face then start a business with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Halloween In The Life Of Sherlock And John

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I failed the challenge, despite how short this one is. But to be fair, it was Halloween which is basically Christmas for the store in which I work. The building is also on a main road and we're open until 8pm so we were getting trick or treaters. Then there was Halloween karaoke which is a must see. But, in the interest of closure, I finished it.
> 
> This week I got:
> 
> 1\. John and Sherlock  
> 2\. Trick Or Treating(specifically kidlock)  
> 3\. Pirates
> 
> It's kind of roundabout but I hope it's enjoyed anyway
> 
> HAPPY DIA DE LOS MUERTOS!!!

 

 

 

 

 

Violette Holmes walked her youngest boy to the Watson's door, tugging his hand away from his nose and gently squeezing his shoulder after the door had opened and she'd exchanged a kiss and a greeting with Carol.

 

"Good evening, Mrs. Watson. Happy Halloween," the boy sighed, rolling pale eyes. Carol wasn't easily swayed by the behaviour of boys and took what she could get.

 

"Good evening, Sherlock. My, but you make a splendid pirate." Sherlock couldn't help a brief preening grin. As the women chatted a bit, Sherlock began bouncing impatiently on his black knee boots. He had things to discuss with his best friend before they could venture out, strategies and the like, and here were these two women chattering away like howler monkeys whilst he had important business.  _Finally_ , Mrs. Watson stepped aside, without breaking conversation and Sherlock bolted for John's room, drawing an offended squawk from John's little sister who was dressed as some sort of... princess? He neither knew nor cared, only throwing a cursory apology over his shoulder so Mummy wouldn't nag him if she tattled.

 

He ran into the room calling out. "John! Your Mum said I was a splen... did... What on earth are you  _wearing_ , John?" The blonde ten year-old was still a little shorter than the child two years his junior, but Sherlock was not only in his form, but more clever than most of the adults in the school, let alone the other children. It was just that his mother wanted him to make friends. He only succeeded in making one and said he'd decided it was all he'd need. It had nothing to do with the fact that the other children teased him for being a braniac. That was only until he started telling them about what their parents and siblings got up to behind closed doors. Then they called him a freak, and that was only because he was right. John had only gone to the headmaster's office twice for defending Sherlock. They had no idea about the thousands of other times he punched someone for making fun. Sherlock didn't even know all the times. Well, he did, actually, but he didn't always mention it when it took place outside of his presence. 

 

"I'm a detective," John announced, pressing at his bushy blond moustache and wiggling his nose at the tickle. "Mum insisted I wear a hat with flaps to come down over my ears-"

 

"An  _ear_ -hat, John?" Sherlock was flabbergasted at such a ridiculous notion. John took no notice of his disgust.

 

"And the magnifying glass is wicked! I use it to hunt for clues that nobody else can see in order to solve mysteries. And this pipe is brilliant because it does bubbles!" John demonstrated.

 

"That's stupid," Sherlock declared.

 

"It is not!"

 

"It is. Completely idiotic. Detectives don't look like that." Sherlock was speaking casually, fiddling with John's things as he stomped on his feelings.

 

"Oh? Well, since you're so clever, what  _would_  a detective look like?"

 

"Everyone else, obviously. The key to being a detective is to be able to hide in plain sight. That's what my big brother says. You have to look like you fit in with those around you." Of course. It was so simple, said in such an aloof manner, that John wanted to punch him.

 

"You're a jerk,  _William_." That got his attention. Sherlock strode right up to him, looking down into his face. John thrust out his chin and didn't break eye contact.

 

"Don't call me that," Sherlock said menacingly.

 

"How about Billy?"

 

"I'm warning you..." John raised his eyebrows.

 

"Perhaps Willy. Because that's how you're behav-" John didn't see it coming. The fist connected solidly with his left eye and, after staring in horror for a moment, John was on him. They grappled a moment, John barely holding himself back from just throttling him. Who did he think he was? "Just because you're a genius," John shouted, "it doesn't mean you get to treat people any old way!"

 

"I don't treat people that way!" Sherlock yelled back. "I only treat  _idiots_  that way!" John froze, Sherlock effectively pinned beneath him but he stopped struggling when he saw the look on John's face. If it was even a tenth of the breathless ache of his own heart, then it would have been understood. John carefully removed himself and sat on his bed, eerily quiet and staring off into the distance. The moustache had fallen off in the fray.

 

Sherlock nearly panicked. They called each other idiot all the time. It was sort of their nickname for each other. So what was so different about this time? Sherlock went through his mental catalogue of human interaction. It was devastatingly meager and he wished for the hundredth time that he was as adept as Mycroft was at social exchanges. He just could never get the hang of it. Mostly because people were idiots. Mycroft knew this as well, was the one to point it out to him, in fact. But, Sherlock's needing to know  _why_  they were idiots got in the way of him learning how to deal with them. But John wasn't really an idiot and Sherlock thought that was understood. He was, in fact, Sherlock's only friend and the youngest Holmes didn't know what he'd do if he'd lost him. Ironically, he also didn't know how to keep him. He'd scrambled to his feet as soon as John got up but had no idea what to do now. His pirate hat had been rolled on so he picked it up and began straightening it out so he wouldn't have to look at John holding in tears by the skin of his teeth.

 

"Sorry," Sherlock murmured. John wouldn't look at him. This was really bad. "John, I'm sorry."

 

"You don't even know what you're sorry for," John said quietly.

 

"I'm sorry I... called you an idiot? Though I don't know why this time-"

 

"It's not because you called me an idiot,  _idiot_!"

 

"Then why-"

 

"Because you said I wasn't a person." Sherlock cautiously approached and sat to John's right, keeping his deadly left farther away.

 

"When did I say that?"

 

"You said you only treat idiots like that not people.  _I'm_  people."

 

"But... you're not...  _people_. You're  _John_." How could he make this boy understand that he was in a different category, a higher one, reserved for pirates, science, Mummy and Father. Maybe Mycroft. Sometimes. But John was finally looking at him and trying to wipe his eyes, hissing at the pain in the left one. Sherlock took his eyepatch out of his pocket and fit it over the injured area. "You can be a pirate detective now," Sherlock almost whispered in order not to break the delicacy of impending forgiveness. "We'll sail the seven seas and work out where treasure is buried before anyone else. It's much better without the moustache. You look a proper detective now."

 

"Do I?" John looked at him with the most hopeful of expressions.

 

"Yes. Perhaps I'll be a detective too."

 

"Well you do work out things about people from clues no one else seems to see. I suppose you already are one."

 

"Perhaps I should charge money for it." His ire mostly forgotten, John's deep blue eyes lit up.

 

"Yeah! We should have a sign. Solve any mystery for a quid."

 

"And business cards! Mycroft has them and he's only fifteen."

 

"Mycroft has business cards?"

 

"Yes but only because he's pretentious, not because he actually does anything other than eat."

 

"What's 'pretentious'?" Sherlock had a vast vocabulary, but John never minded asking the meaning of a word. He just added it to his own expanding mental dictionary, sometimes even writing them down. 

 

"It means he thinks he's better than everyone else." Sherlock also had no problem imparting wisdom on a willing listener.

 

"Oh. But we actually have a business so it won't be... pree-ten-shus," John stated, enunciating in order to try out the new word. It felt comfortable. "What will our ones say?" John's grin grew progressively larger with each new factor. Sherlock thought a moment.

 

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson: Pirate Detectives." John took notebook paper and a pencil out of his school bag and the two set to work on designing things. They discussed where the Jolly Roger would go and how big it would be. Sherlock tried on John's moustache and had a sneezing fit as a result, which John found immensely funny.

 

When they came downstairs after being called to be taken out trick or treating, Carol Watson pretended not to notice the eye patch covering a swelling blue eye and the lack of moustache. Despite the trouble they got into, they were good for each other, Sherlock teaching John new things academically and John not letting himself be bullied by Sherlock's often caustic manner that hid what was actually a sensitive heart, teaching him how to deal with people.

 

"Ready boys and girl?"

 

"Yes!" came a chorus of young voices that were then escorted out into the cool autumn air.

 


End file.
